Sacred Earth and Divine Land - A China Centered Drabble Series
by DewyPeach
Summary: With the arrival of the modern age, this ancient nation had to face changes and hardships never before imagined.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes:**

These drabbles were written for the Hetalia Writers' Discord drabble-games event.

The Sacred Earth and Divine Land (Chixian Shenzhou) is an alternative name of China which originates in the Warring States Period.

* * *

Since he could remember, China had dreamed about flying. He had imagined the freedom of leaving mortal worries behind on the steadily shrinking land, replaced by the cloudy heavens in which the gods lived.

He had not imagined that at the age of three thousand, he would finally reach the sky riding a monster of metal and steam. And that there, he would find not a splendid, immortal realm, but a cold, grey and smoke-filled emptiness with no palace and no trace of gods.

Up in that dream-turned-nightmare, he was granted the vision of a god, looking down upon his vast lands and seeing them as they truly were - a mass of destruction caused by years of war and famine. His treasured cities and temples were burnt, his beautiful natural landscapes polluted and consumed. It was a sad, broken land, which mirrored his old and weary soul.


	2. Chapter 2

The city of Beijing rarely saw blue skies these days. A grey blanket hung above, swamping the surroundings in haze and almost obscuring the buildings across the street from sight. China wore a face mask so to not breathe in lungfuls of car exhaust and factory smoke as he walked towards his largest and favourite temple.

It was a holiday, and he was soon drowned in the current of hundreds of people who were aiming for the same destination. The sidewalks around the temple were crowded with beggars - sick and mutilated individuals who hoped to gain charity from the crowd, knowing the people coming to prey might want to increase their value of good deeds in the eyes of the gods. China ignored their hoarse cries and averted his eyes. He did not know how to help them all, so he had learned to harden his heart to the suffering of his own people.

They were gone from sight soon enough, and the polluted air was replaced by a different kind of smoke - heavy, oversweet incense. When China's turn arrived, he laid out his offerings for the large golden statues. They were beautiful, but meaningless; what they represented was not real. China was fully aware of that. Even if his gods existed, they would be powerless in this world ruled by human cruelty. Still, he lighted his incense and knelt on the soft, dirty red cushions to pray. These rituals were part of his being. The Party had tried to erase his culture, and since then he fought to maintain it. Religion was rebellion, and his prayer wasn't meaningless, but a promise to himself, a goal set in order to be fulfilled by his own painfully mortal hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Taiwan was wearing a western men's suit, tailored to flatter her slim figure, as she spoke on stage about the newest technological developments of her country. The audience loved her, this cheerful, open-minded adolescence. She seemed confident of her abilities, hopeful for a better future. A hundred years ago she would have been considered her father's property. Her feet would be bound by straps of fabric to cause pain in walking and prevent her from straying far from home, where she was to cook, clean and serve.

China never thought she would leave him. His male sons - they were bound to take flight into the open world, to outshine him. But his only daughter? She was to remain his forever, treasured and protected. She was to respect him regardless of his many mistakes and the many times he wronged her.

She should have been his support in his old age, to tend to him and keep the loneliness away. Instead, she claimed independence from him, and wanted nothing to do with her old man and old home.

Looking at himself, China couldn't blame her.


	4. Chapter 4

When Japan was a child, China had taught him the game of Go. The boy was a fast learner, and very talented for his age. He would sit there with his forehead crinkled, strands of black hair falling into his eyes, and very slowly and seriously placed each stone on the board. When he lost, he would bravely accept it with a bow of his little head, only the slight twitch of his mouth giving off his discontent. But one time, an unexpected shake of his hand caused his whole bowl to topple over, spilling white stones all over the board and around it. He had cried then, maybe because of the ruined game and maybe just because of the shocking loud crash and the scary avalanche of smooth pebbles. It took almost an hour to calm him down.

For some reason, China was reminded of that day when his little boy marched against his capital, with countless soldiers that spilled across the Lugou bridge, wiping away China's own forces. Japan's face was angry, bitter and merciless. _How have you become like this?_ China wondered, and was seized by a completely irrational urge to hold Japan and comfort him until that dark look was gone from his eyes and the son he had loved was back. Those memories made the pain of his defeat so much worse. He could almost feel his heart breaking.


End file.
